Content Warning: Salty language and implications of the intent to sexually assault by the bad guy in the story.

He stares back at her, cool and unconcerned, like he has no real care about what's happening to him right at this moment. If she didn't know better, judging by the almost bored look on his face, it'd be easy to forget that he's being cuffed and carted away to serve the rest of his days behind bars. A sociopathic murderer, she'd chased Paul Ryan Dooley through three different states and then used every single one of his weaknesses and perversions against him.

She'd seduced him, trapped him and then put her foot on his chest. Told him that this was his end.

It is.

The foreman had looked right at Dooley when he'd said, "Guilty."

And now, Emma is staring at him.

Reminding him that she'd won.

That he'd lost.

He smiles at her, his lip quirking upwards.

She tries not to shiver.

He mouths, "Who do you love?"

He'd asked every single one of his victims that question.

But Emma doesn't have anyone – no one that he can take away from her.

She has nothing to lose.

Her own expression darkly victorious, Emma turns away from him.

She'd been twenty-five when Paul Ryan Dooley had been convicted and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility parole; she hasn't thought of him in five years and until the moment that she's staring back at him as he holds a knife to Regina's throat, she hadn't been intending to.

Because she'd won that battle - she'd tracked him down, stopped him from hurting any other women, and then watched as he'd been put into a little cage like the animal that he is.

But he's free now (she finds out later that he'd escaped during a prison-to-prison transport about a year or so ago with several other inmates, and old colleagues of her had tried to contact her to warn her, but she supposes that she'd been in Neverland or Camelot or the Underworld for that).

He's free and he's grinning wildly at her.

Like he'd just won the fucking lottery.

"Emma Swan, Emma Swan, Emma Swan," he chants.

"I'm right here, Dooley," Emma replies, carefully measuring her words not to intentionally antagonize him. "You want me? You want to make me pay for your time in prison? You want to show me what you went through? Show me your rage? Well then let the pretty lady go free and take me."

She pointedly ignores the sharp look from Regina, refusing to meet her stormy dark eyes. Because Emma knows that Regina will most certainly be telling her that she can handle this fool without any sweep-in help from her lover. But things are different here; they're not in Storybrooke and neither one of them have magic, and Paul is this worlds' version of a monster. Only this monster doesn't have the ability to fight for redemption or change within him, and he's not here to ask Emma for a second chance. No, what this man wants is vengeance and he means to get it via the woman Emma loves.

She thinks about walking into the gas station with Regina (they're outside of Storybrooke, road-tripping to pick up the last of the many strange and wonderful things from Neal's apartment for Henry, and she thanks every deity that there is that Henry had been too sick thanks to a sudden flu bug to accompany them on this little voyage). She thinks about how they'd been teasing and harassing each other, bumping shoulders and carelessly flirting; she thinks about how things are good and how thanks to her family and Regina, she's remembered how good it feels to love and be loved again. She thinks about grabbing Regina's hand and how they'd shared a coy smile between the two of them.

A promise of something more for later on.

A romantic and passionate night just between the two of them.

All of that has been pushed back and away now, however.

Because Dooley is staring her down and holding a knife to Regina's throat.

Emma thinks she should have realized that they'd been being followed ever since Boston. But Regina had been doing the driving, and it's not like the Queen has practice or experience in the behavior of cars and how they should and shouldn't trail. She'd been flipping radio stations and paying attention to the highway (she's still not a fan of driving on them) and she clearly hadn't seen him.

But now, standing in the gas station, standing across from Regina and Dooley and with the cashier (he's eighteen maybe, scared and shaky and damn near in tears) behind her, she recognizes that the car that he'd been driving was one she'd seen at the little coffee shop they'd had breakfast at in Boston.

Dooley had seen them there, she realizes with a small shiver.

He had likely seen them there in Boston, and decided to chase her across a couple of states just as she had chased him. He'd decided to use her weaknesses to bring her down just as she had him.

Because love is a weakness, right?

It makes you vulnerable - it exposes you to negative consequences that you might not have otherwise recognized; were she not in love with Regina, she'd have thrown herself into him by now.

But Regina…God, there's bright red blood on her throat, dripping down slowly, touching the brilliant white of her perfectly starched collar. It's not a lot but it's still there and Emma is afraid.

So goddamn afraid.

Because there was Neal and Graham and Hook and…

This is Regina.

She blows air out and tries to collect herself.

Finds Regina's eyes, sees the strength and determination there.

Sees the fight burning there; Regina is no damsel in distress, she reminds herself.

"The pretty lady," Dooley repeats suddenly, rolling his tongue over the words like they're sexual. He nudges the blade lightly against the skin of Regina's throat. "What's your name, Pretty Lady?"

"Fuck You," Regina replies hotly, and Emma almost laughs at the pure loathing that she hears in Regina's low simmering voice; of course, now, is when Regina is letting the defiant brawler out.

Her stubborn arrogant Queen.

He tightens the knife against her throat, and then there's more blood dripping down in swelling droplets, some of it splattering to the ground. "Try again. Try nicer. Or I give you a bigger smile."

"You hurt her and I will rip you apart," Emma growls at him, cutting off Regina's angry retort.

"Now, Emma, would I do that to you?" Dooley laughs at his own joke and whirls his hand around (it reminds her uncomfortably of Rumple). "Of course, I would. So, how about answer my question."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Emma replies.

"Yes, you do. Pretty Lady, tell her to answer the question."

"Do I look like I take orders from trailer trash?" Regina snaps back at him.

Emma winces; she adores Regina's fight and her balls out approach to just about everything in her life, but right now is a really inconvenient time to be antagonizing someone just to do it.

"I can see why you're into her, Swan; she's a feisty little bitch. Tell me, is she good in bed, too? Like nails across the back good? If I remember right, you liked the rough stuff. Liked it a whole lot."

"You never got that far," Emma shoots back, her hands clenching into fists as she tries to check her anger. "If I remember right, I got your clothes off and then knocked you down to your knees."

"Oh that's right; you tricked me into bed and fucked me the wrong way." He digs the knife in deeper and Regina gasps; behind her, Emma hears the cashier whimper. "Gonna have to pay now."

Idly, Emma wonders where the fucking cops are - not that it matters; there's nothing they can do to save or help them out of the mess that they're currently in. No, the truth is that she and Regina are going to have to get themselves out of this bit of nastiness all on their own.

Like always.

Emma puts up her hands and tries for conciliatory. "She's not the one who owes you, though," Emma says again. "I am. So come after me. Make me pay." She says it again and again, pleading.

"Oh, I am going to make you pay; I promise you that much," he replies. Then leans down and licks the blood off of Regina's throat; she flinches, involuntarily shuddering in revulsion, her eyes swimming with a thousand old nightmares all at once. "Tell me," Dooley asks. "Who do you love? And don't think that you can lie to me again, Swan; I'm something of a professor in love."

"Please," Emma says then.

Because there's no point in pretending she doesn't feel as she does; she's terrified right now.

"Say it again."

"Paul, please, let her go. Whatever you want from me, you can have. I don't care. I don't. Anything you want from me, okay? Just…please."

"Emma, no," Regina manages, her voice sounding strangled and strained. Her eyes are wide and dark and the fear that's rolling off of her is almost thick enough to cut with an actual knife.

"Shh, Pretty Lady, I want to hear this; do you know that she laughed at me when she had me on the ground? Do you know that she told me she was going to enjoy the hell out of fucking me?"

Emma meets Regina's eyes, then and tries to smile, but it doesn't work; in a weird way, she's gotten used to dealing with Regina's dark and twisted past, and has learned to recognize and negotiate it and the ugliness of it. But this is different. This is her own sordid past and she never wanted -

"Paul," Regina says suddenly. "That's your name, right?"

"It is," he replies with clear amusement, the knife once again tapping lightly against her throat. "You going to tell me yours yet? Or are you going to keep acting like some stupid uppity bitch?"

Emma sees Regina's jaw clench in irritation and it's the seriousness of what's happening (and the blood on Regina's throat) that keeps her from laughing at Regina's indignation ("I'm a fucking Queen, Emma, let's try not to forget that, my dear,"). But instead, she uses the slight distraction Regina has handed her, and starts looking around. For a weapon, for an opportunity. For anything.

Because Regina is the one she loves.

And Paul Ryan Dooley's entire sheet – his entire existence - is built around the horrors involved in the ending of lives of loved ones.

"Regina," the Queen answers.

"Regina. Huh. Of course, it is. So high and mighty," he drawls, a finger trailing over her olive skin. "Never would have expected you to be nailing your way through the country club, Swan."

Regina huffs. Her posture straightening in spite of everything, she asks, "Does everything you say sound like it came out of a bad movie about gutter-dwelling thugs? No wonder Emma was able to take you down with your pants around your ankles; you're stupider than most shepherds I've met."

Emma winces again; Regina is really poor at this kind of thing.

Plus, that was kind of an unnecessary (and confusing for Dooley) attack on Emma's father. But mostly, it just seems like it was antagonizing the stupid awful son of a bitch just for the sake of -

Maybe that's exactly what it was, Emma thinks a moment later as Paul grunts in anger, and then reaches out with his hand and places it around Regina's throat, spinning her around and slamming her forcefully against the counter behind her, leaning her far enough backwards that she cries out in pain as he leans over. His fingers dig into her skin, his dirty nails cutting into flesh with sickening ease.

It's a horrific visual – unspeakably grotesque and both physically and sexually dominating, and it makes Emma's blood boil.

But it's also an opening.

An opening created by Regina for her.

One they both use.

He's spitting rage at Regina, telling her how he's going to do awful things to her as he pushes violently against her with his hips and groin. Telling her how he's going to enjoy tearing her apart.

Tearing her how much he's going to enjoy hearing her scream for mercy.

And then, as he's moving forward again, Regina's knee is coming up with equally violent force into his groin and he's tumbling back at the same time that Emma is slamming a full bottle of Jack Daniels against the top of his head. He whimpers and falls, hands over his groin as his head bleeds.

Regina's eyes meet hers and she thinks that no, love really is strength.

Because this was them…it's always been them.

Always.

"Regina -"

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"No," Emma says quietly. She then places her foot on Paul's chest and shoves him back down again, her heel digging in hard. "You want to know who I love, Paul? You really want to know?"

His eyes meet hers, pained and afraid.

"No one that you will ever take from me," Emma states, remembering a time when she'd had nothing for him to take. Everything is different now; she has so much now. So much that she knows that she would kill to protect. This woman, her son, her parents and her friends. Her family.

No piece of garbage will ever be allowed to take any of that away from her, Emma vows to herself.

She feels Regina come up behind her, feels a hand lightly cupping her elbow; she puts her own hand out and takes Regina's. Their hands thread together and squeeze – reassurance and steadiness.

A reminder that they're both still here.

The ones still standing.

But she still doesn't remove her foot from Paul's chest until the cops take him away; it's thankfully the last time she ever sees him.

It's so much later (after cops and doctors and emotional phone calls home; Snow is typically worried, but had finally been soothed by reassurances about both of their conditions) and they're at the hotel. There's a bandage that she hates around Regina's throat, and Emma can't take her eyes off it.

"I'm okay," Regina assures her. "Really."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Emma lets out a breath. "I I didn't know better; I'd almost say that you enjoyed that."

"Having that disgusting man on top of me?" Regina queries, an eyebrow lifted.

"Taking down that disgusting man," Emma corrects.

"Well, I did enjoy that part," Regina admits with a wry chuckle.

"You're a terrible hostage," Emma laughs.

"It wasn't part of my Queen 101 training; my mother would have butchered anyone who would have dared try and as the Evil Queen, I'd have done the butchering myself," Regina replies with a shrug. Seeing Emma's lack of response, she steps towards the blonde. "Are you all right?"

"Better now that that's over."

"Yes," Regina agrees, her fingers reaching out to touch Emma's cheek, a fingertip tracing down and along Emma's well-defined jawline. "He shook you up quite a bit, didn't he?"

"I forget - sometimes - that I have a past, too. And that I've pissed off a lot of people who really hate me. For good and bad reasons." Her own hand reaches out and then her fingers graze over the bandage on Regina's throat. "I'm just as bad as you are at dealing with people I love being hurt."

"He's hurt far worse than me," Regina reminds her.

Emma snorts, and then pulls Regina close. "Just so you know, I didn't sleep with that guy. When he said that I wanted to fuck him…that meant over. I did a lot of crazy stuff back during those days, some stuff that I really regret…but I never did…him."

"It wouldn't have mattered to me if you had; we all have skeletons that we are ashamed of, Emma. You have accepted every one of mine no matter how horrific. You accepted that I was a horrible person."

"You're not that person anymore," Emma insists. "You chose to be someone better."

"I had help getting there." She places a hand on each of Emma's cheeks. "There is literally nothing in your closet that could make me ever think less of you."

"Even the leopard print handcuffs?"

Regina laughs. "Especially not those."

"Fair enough." She hugs Regina close to her, her nose lightly nuzzling against the underside of Regina's jaw before she lightly kisses the skin there, allowing her lips to linger for a few moments. "You know, I'd had a different night in mind for us, but -"

"You're exhausted," the Queen finishes for her.

"Yeah. Sorry?"

"Don't be; I am, too. As it turns out, almost getting killed is fairly draining," she chuckles. She turns around, then reaches back and takes Emma by the hand, walking them over to the bed. "A soft mattress and nowhere that we have to be tomorrow. Just because tonight is lost doesn't mean that -"

"Tomorrow is," Emma replies and then lets Regina pulls her down onto the bed with her, the Queen's arms winding around her as they both curl deep beneath the blankets, warm and safe now. The bandage there still disturbs her more than she can put into words, but Regina's breaths against her are comforting.

Soft and steady.

Emma sighs and closes her eyes.

And lets the day behind them fade away as the night rushes forward.

-Fin